The Legend of Superman
by injustice
Summary: Chapter 5 is live! The Legend of... Superboy? Chapters 6 and 7 are finished, but I am unpleased with them so far. I will take some time to make changes in order to make them the best that I can. Sorry for the delay.
1. Issue 1

**The Legend of Superman**

_Disclaimer- Characters within this work are not of my creation, and are property of DC Comics._

**Issue One: Quiet Town, U.S.A.**

**Smallville, Kansas. October 12th, 1979**:

Johnathan Kent dropped into a low crouch and took a damp, red-plaid handkerchief from a pocket in his overalls; he wiped a significant amount of sweat from his forehead, then slipped the small cloth back into a back pocket, leaving a corner hanging out, mainly for easy future reach, but he also thought it made him look a bit more like a farmer. Of course, he was surrounded by acres of newly-purchased farmland, but nonetheless, he wanted to look the part. If Johnathan could take any of his father's lesson's to heart, it was that "owning somethin' don't mean you're an expert"; farming was no exception.

When he had co-signed the deed with his wife, Martha, he knew they were in for a rough first couple of years; he knew the very basics of farming, and figured that the rest would come to him naturally, once he got enough practice. Unfortunately, they had owned the farm for two-and-a-half-months, and that just wasn't happening. For six hours now, he had been attempting to dig holes in order to put a new fence around the property; key word, "attempting". Though he had put his sweat and tears into this project, all he was left with was the sweat and tears. The posts for the new fence stood awkwardly in their foundations, and the soil was very rocky, making the digging go much slower. A number of times, he had hit large rocks, sending painful vibrations up the tool he was using. All in all, the process was frustrating, and the sun was dropping quickly in the sky.

"Screw it," Johnathan muttered, and threw down his work gloves next to the current pit he was digging. He wouldn't get much work done anyway... might as well get a fresh start in the morning. Johnathan turned toward the largest building on the property, the one that served as a home for him and Martha. Admittedly, it wasn't much at the moment, but like the rest of the farm, he planned on fixing it up. However, much like the rest of the property it was unfinished, with gaping holes in some of the downstairs ceilings; the roof also needed to be re-shingled, as it leaked like a drunk with twelve beers in his belly.

Johnathan continued up the dirt path that served as driveway, trying his best to wipe excess dirt off of his overalls. Large chunks of mud, churned up from his digging, clung to his pants, and although he got most of it off, it still looked like he had stolen second a couple of times. To tell the truth, Johnathan wasn't all that used to having dirt on his hands, but he was quickly getting used to it; in the farm business, dirt came with the package... "if you can't stand the dirt, you probably shouldn't become a farmer" were the exact words the real estate salesman had posed to him as he signed the papers. Actually, much like the handkerchief hanging out of his back pocket, he thought the dirt made him look gruff, and even ruggedly sexy; for a guy who used to wear glasses when he was a kid, he welcomed the chance at a new look.

As he reached the end of the driveway, he stopped and took in the scene. The sun just barely peaked the top of the roof, but it gave everything a homely sort of quality; Johnathan noticed that the beginnings of his wife's garden were wonderfully accented by the beams of light. The bright red barn a bit of a way west of the house also looked pretty good from this angle; that paint job (one of the few jobs he had managed to completely finish) was definitely worth the time and effort he put into it.

Although Johnathan didn't mind putting in a hard day's work, the past few weeks had been murder on his back; although he was only a young man of twenty-seven, he had already struggled with back problems, mainly as a result of working for his uncle's moving business for four years. Not only was Johnathan doing twelve or thirteen hours of work a day, he was doing it alone. Martha did her share of work around the house, but he was always worried about her condition, and tried to limit the amount of tough labor she did... it just wouldn't be good for the baby.

At four-and-a-half months, Martha was beginning to truly show that she was pregnant, her belly expanding and her breasts rounding; Johnathan was also noticing a vast change in her demeanor over the course of her pregnancy. Martha was normally a happy woman, but she was never like this; every day she smiled as if she had won the lottery, beaming as she made him a hearty breakfast, or tended to her garden. Even a few of her friends had commented at the change; it was as if all her dreams had come true. "And maybe they had," Johnathan smiled. Although the house leaked and looked as if the builders had just stopped before they finished their work and Johnathan was incredibly busy with his work, they were happy. The first few years in Hutchinson had been good, but they had also been rife with struggle; saving up to buy a farm house isn't very easy, especially when you had to work two jobs to accomplish the task.

Back then, they had fought sporadically, and their marriage had been on the verge of collapsing; but, when Johnathan's uncle had left him 150,000 dollars, everything changed. They immediately bought the spacious farm in Martha's hometown, almost disregarding the fact that it needed a lot of work. On their tour through the dusty rooms of the house, the hay covered floors of the barn, it had just felt right... like home. Now, the dust was gone from the floors, and it actually felt like someone lived there; unless, of course, you happened to look up.

Johnathan walked over to the pen that stood across from the house, leaning over the railing and surveying the rest of the property. The fence he was resting on was a part of the cattle pen (actually one of the only completed parts of the farm, other than the barn), and he thought ahead to the cattle they would buy. Johnathan had lined up an appointment with another farmer next week, and he thought that would be the perfect time to purchase something that made him think of an actual working farm. Of course, getting the Kent Farm up and running was a few months away, but he wanted to start getting the pieces together as early as he could.

As he leaned over the fence, he had the thought that he should pick out a strand of grass to chew on, in order to complete his hard-working farmer image, but he was interrupted by a loud scream from inside the house. "Martha!" Johnathan shouted, and he turned and ran full speed toward the house, the handkerchief in his back pocket falling out onto the dirt. He hardly noticed as he leaped the picket fence, not wasting time to open it, and ran up the steps, flinging open the door (which opened into the kitchen on the right, and the living room on the right). Johnathan's eyes frantically searched the room for his wife, and after a few seconds, he noticed one of his wife's legs, sprawled out from behind the kitchen island. He ran to her, kneeling by her side; a glass bottle of milk lay shattered on the floor near the sink, and Martha lay next to the spreading pool of milk.

"Martha! Martha! Are you alright!" Johnathan reached out and felt her pulse; still strong and steady, a very good sign. Martha was still not responding to his calls, so he felt along her body for any cuts or if she had hit her head when she fell. Seeing none, he put one of his hands on her thigh, and the other he used to brush the blond hair from her eyes.

"Honey? Honey? Can you hear me?" He rubbed her cheek, and her eyes slowly fluttered open.

"Johnathan?" Raising her head slightly, she looked around the room, pausing for a second at the broken bottle a few feet away from her. "Oh, I must have..." Her voice trailed away, and Johnathan gripped her hand with his.

"It's ok, honey, you must have fainted... it must have been the heat, or something..." Johnathan hesitated at that last part, not really believing it. To be honest, the only thing he was thinking about was the baby; that fall must not have been good for it.

Smiling faintly, Martha gripped his hand tightly and started to get up; when she reached her feet, Johnathan put a hand around her waist and directed her to an armchair, gently lowering her onto it. Making sure that she was settled, he turned and went to clean up the broken glass from the kitchen floor. He reached over the sink and went to grab the roll of paper towels over the sink, but he stopped suddenly.

As he reached over the sink, Johnathan had noticed the blood on the back of his hand, causing him to survey the rest of the kitchen. A small pool of blood had gathered where Martha had fallen, and the sight seemed to stop his heart. All of his worst fears came into his imagination, and he gripped the counter to stop himself from falling.

When he got his balance back, he rushed over to Martha. She had both hands, covered in blood, in front of her face. Her look was one of absolute horror, and the sight chilled Johnathan to the bone; if there was one face he hoped he would never see on her beautiful face, it was this one, and he almost screamed out in anger. This anger wasn't aimed in any particular direction, but if Johnathan calmed down enough to realize it, he was probably blaming God. These thoughts weren't exactly rational, but when faced with situations of extreme difficulty, a lot of people lose their sense of rationality.

Hearing Martha crying snapped Johnathan out of his short trance, and he crouched down beside her, wrapping his arms around her, trying his best to console her. At this time, he also looked down toward her flower-printed skirt, which was also covered in blood; seeing this, Johnathan lost all hope that the fall hadn't hurt the baby. He knew it; in some far corner of his mind, he just knew that something terrible had happened.

Johnathan always thought of himself as a man of action, and he picked his weeping wife up and started toward the door. Taking quick peeks at her heart-broken face, he realized she had come to the same conclusion that he had. He wanted to stop, to put her down and hold her tight; he wanted to be there for her, but he realized that the best he could do was to take her as fast as possible to the hospital. And so he did; Johnathan managed to open the front gate, and he half-walked, half-ran to the rusty red pick-up truck. Placing Martha in the passenger seat as softly as possible, he closed the door and ran around to the other side, quickly starting the engine. Johnathan peeled out of the driveway, leaving a massive trail of dust behind the truck.

Although he really wasn't paying attention to it, had he looked down at the speed-o-meter, he would have seen that he was going 75 the whole way to the hospital.

xxxxxxx

As they both had feared, the news was not good. Martha had a miscarriage, and the baby was lost. The doctor had wanted to keep her overnight for some additional observation, but Martha wanted to sleep in her own bed; and, when Martha really wanted something, she usually got it. The doctor had finally let her leave, after getting her to promise to return the next afternoon for a follow-up. He gave his condolences, and walked back through large swinging doors to tend to another patient.

xxxxxxx

The ride home began as a quiet one, with neither Johnathan or Martha saying much of anything to each other. The events of the early evening had shook them both, and they both were trying to gather their thoughts, their emotions. A full moon lit the sky, and it gave the ride an eerie quality; Johnathan thought to himself that it seemed like he was in a horror movie... some horrible, frightening horror movie. The silence was deafening.

Reading the moment, Martha reached over and flipped on the radio. The sounds of the local news-radio program filled the car.

"...that's right, Carol. In other news, it looks like Smallville will get a special gift tonight: in the form of a meteor shower. That's right, folks, Smallville, Kansas will be treated to their first meteor shower since 1944! Wake the kids, get on those fall coats and sweaters, and stake out a place on the front lawn to witness this incredible event take place. It may not happen for a while!

"In other news, traffic on Interstate 13 was backed up for hours due to a tractor-trailer that flipped over. No injuries are reported, although many local residents were not all that happy. The time is 2:46 am, and this is your spot for all the news that's going round the grapevine. This is David Ranch, with Smallville Radio, 100.06 AM. We'll be back after the following announcements with the sports."

"In need of automotive supplies? Look no further than Higgins Auto-Supplies, Smallville's one-stop shop for all your automotive needs..." Johnathan tuned out the intrusive sound of the radio, and looked at the thousands of stars in the night sky. Normally, he could have stared at this scene for hours, taking the expanse of the universe in, lost in his thoughts; however, he just couldn't think tonight. It was too difficult a task.

Johnathan looked over at Martha, who was solemnly staring out the passenger window, watching the trees whip by. He forced a smile, even though she couldn't see it, and turned back to the road.

A huge explosion of dirt and gravel leaped up, twenty feet in front of the truck, tearing a sideways path across the road. Johnathan slammed on the brakes, and he could sense Martha brace herself. The truck crashed over and into the gash in the highway, with the front of the truck slamming into the bottom of the unusual pit.

xxxxxxx

When Johnathan woke up, his head throbbed like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. He looked around the truck, checking to see if Martha was alright, but she was nowhere to be seen. He glanced at the windshield, thinking she might have been thrown through it ("God forbid"), but it was only cracked. He then noticed the passenger side door was hanging open, and he quickly unbuckled himself and pushed his door open. It took several hard shoves, but Johnathan managed to get it open. He stepped out into the dirt, noticing the small trail of fire that traced the edge of the hole.

Strike that. To Johnathan, it seemed more like a trench than a hole, as if a piece of the landscape from World War I had fallen through time. Johnathan half expected to see soldiers dressed in tan uniforms, their bodies spread in horrific positions of macabre. Of course, the trench was empty, but that didn't exactly make Johnathan feel any better about the situation.

He climbed over the hood of the truck, which had a great deal of damage, and he jumped down to the other side. Johnathan stood for a second to stare at the length of the trench. It seemed to him that it went on for miles, as if someone had cut a swatch of earth from the county-side. He also noticed that a path of footprints were visible in the dirt and gravel. Martha's.

Johnathan followed her tracks for what seemed like an eternity, although in actuality, it was more like two-and-a-half minutes. As he went further, he noticed that a bit of smoke was floating through the trench, making it difficult to see. Because of this, he didn't see the piece of metal on the trench floor, and he tripped over it, crashing to the dirt floor. Already dirty from his early chores, dirt now caked his face, like a mask. "Martha might have tripped on that thing," he thought, and he frantically searched around the trench for any sign of her. After all, she had been through enough tonight, and the last thing she needed was to cut herself on a piece of metal or trip over it.

Johnathan slowly got to his feet and steadied himself, then pushed further on. After a few seconds, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight in front of him. A large metal object lay at the apparent end of the trench, and to him it looked a lot like a space ship from one of the sci fi movies he and Martha had went to when they were dating. He inched closer, and placed his hand on the exterior of the ship, expecting that he would be burned by it.

Surprisingly, it was cool to the touch, and he ran his hands across the surface, feeling the strange metal under his hands. Johnathan was entranced by the object, and he noted the strange markings on what he assumed was the hull of the strange ship. His fingertips traced the slight dip that the letters made, trying his best to remember the shape. Johnathan spent a few seconds doing this, and might have spent more if he hadn't been tapped on the shoulder. He swung around to find his wife... holding a baby boy.

Upcoming Issue: A Gift from the Sky


	2. Issue 2

**The Legend of Superman**

_Disclaimer- Characters within this work are not of my creation, and are property of DC Comics._

_Superman Created by Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel_

**Issue Two: A Gift From the Sky**

**Metropolis. November 27th, 2011:**

_I can remember the day that our son came to us. Those hours on that October day remain burnt into my memory. I will never forget. Things will happen in our lives... have happened in our lives, but that day... It was fate, destiny. I didn't think I believed in that sort of thing, but that day... that day changed our lives forever. _

_So many good things have come out of that field in Smallville. Wonderful things. All because of him... because of Clark. I always told Johnathan that we may have lost something that day, but we got so much more. A son. A friend. A protector. A savior. And he might be gone now, but we will always have those memories... until the day we die. The world may have known him as Superman, but to us... he was our gift from the sky._

**Smallville, Kansas. October 13th, 1979:**

Martha Kent awakened suddenly, and took a few seconds before realizing she was in the smoldering ruins of the truck. She quickly looked to Johnathan, putting a hand on his forehead, feeling that he was still warm. _Thank God. He's still alive. _It looked as though he had a long cut on his right arm, and his shirt was tattered and blood-stained. But still, he looked like he would be fine; at least, fine to someone with Martha's limited medical experience. She tried her belt, worried that it might not open (something that always seemed to happen to those people that are in car crashes in the movies), but it clicked right away. She tried the door, which gave significantly more resistance than the seatbelt, but after a few hits from her shoulder, it ominously grunted open.

_Damn... my shoulder... it must be dislocated or something. I'll have to get to a doctor... get both of us to a doctor somehow. _Martha turned and shimmied out of the truck. The truck was on an angle from the ground, and so the distance was a bit more than she was used to; Martha, not expecting this, grunted when her legs hit the floor of the trench. _Yes, that was what it was. A trench. Not a hole. _Martha surveyed her surroundings, and it hit her that the hole

_:trench:_

seemed almost alien in nature. Thick black gravel and dirt made up the floor of the trench, and small pockets of flame poked out at varying intervals. A similar flame lined the edges of the trench; Martha thought it looked very much like that line was trying to keep someone out... or in, she supposed. She looked back at the truck, and although it was damaged beyond repair, it didn't look all that bad. Martha wasn't sure how that was, but for some reason, she thought they should have been hurt worse. That explosion of dirt and gravel, it was like a missile hit, right in front of them... but they were ok.

Of course, they would both need medical treatment, and Johnathan would need more than a few stitches, but they were fine. Martha tried walking a few steps, and although her knees throbbed, she found that she could walk relatively normal. The trench seemed to go on for miles; the path of whatever caused it cut diagonally across the road, past the fields, and into the forest. And although Martha wasn't sure, she believed that the fields and the forest were a part of their farmland. _Oh no... maybe this thing hit our house! All our hard work, all our money... it would be gone! Everything we have worked for..._

Martha shook her head, disagreeing with herself. Whatever had caused this destruction couldn't have gone that far... it just couldn't have. Maybe it was just positive thinking, but after the day they had both had, positive thinking was all they had left. Martha turned back toward the car, and as she leaned in to help her husband, she thought she heard something. _That sound... it sounds familiar. _She abandoned Johnathan for the time being, confident that he would be ok (after thoroughly checking under the car for any gas leaks, just to make sure), and started toward the sound.

The terrain was surprisingly soft, considering all the chunks of gravel strewn up along the sides of the trench, and that made walking relatively easy. Martha thought she had a slight limp, but she pressed on along the path. _I couldn't have heard that sound. It's... it's impossible. If I was right, and this land really is a part of our farm, then that sound... _Shaking her head again, Martha slowly made her way along the trench, passing through a large field and continuing toward the tree-line, which was getting increasingly larger in her field of vision. Martha stole a few looks back at the truck, which was barely visible now, and was happy to see that it was still there, and still (sort of) intact. She was walking as she did this, and when she turned back, she froze in fear.

A large metallic object sat in the middle of her path, and it seemed that it marked the end of the trench. There was a small amount of smoke drifting in the trench, and that had hidden the object from view. Although, Martha supposed, she still probably would have stopped in fear even if she had seen it from a hundred feet away. A smart woman, Martha knew that it probably wouldn't be the best idea to touch this thing; it could be an unexploded rocket. For all she knew, the Russians had finally broken the cold war and initiated World War III. Of course, she quickly thought, they probably could have picked a better target than Smallville, Kansas. Martha wasn't sure of how many wars had started by bombing one of the smallest, uneventful towns in the country (this was an exaggeration, and Smallville was actually a pretty good-sized town, all things considered), but she was sure it wasn't many.

Martha examined the object further; it was incredibly shiny for having crashed through a mile or so of land. A bit of dirt sat on top, but other than that, it was clean. She moved further, and noticed a handful of small symbols etched into the side; they were of no language that she could think of, and it certainly didn't look Russian. That made her relax a bit, and she inched closer, trying to take in every detail; most of the object was in an oval shape, but the front straightened into a point. The back (where Martha was standing) also seemed to have three large holes, evenly spaced along the object. She walked around to the front, bending down momentarily to toss away a large rock, and she noticed that on the top of the object towards the front (where it sloped down into the point), there was only one thing to see; a large S was etched into the metal, much like the ones on the back of the object, although this one was a bit larger. It also seemed that the S was inside some kind of diamond shape. Martha wasn't sure, but she thought that this object looked a lot like a ship, and the S-symbol was it's marker.

_Perhaps the ship is part of the space program; maybe those symbols are just some new form of alphabet so that the Russians (or anyone else) can't read it. _Martha was drawn to the symbol; unlike the ones on the back of the ship, this one seemed different. It was more pronounced; the edges stood out much further than the others. Perhaps that was what inclined her to touch the symbol; perhaps it was just fate.

As her hand touched the cool exterior of the ship, a series of soft noises (like machinery) filled the air. The S-symbol, which stood so pronounced just seconds before, slipped down into the ship, becoming flush with the rest of the hood. The noises got considerably louder, and with a final click, the front of the ship began to lift upward, releasing smoke (_or maybe it was cold air). _Martha, shocked at this, stumbled backward, falling into the mound of dirt at the end of the trench. Before her, the front of the ship stood open, and although she could not see inside from her low perspective, she could now clearly hear the sound that she thought she heard earlier.

The sound was that of a baby crying. Martha quickly got to her feet, wiping excess dirt off of her clothes, and inched toward the ship. She was right; there was a baby inside of the strange object in front of her. Wrapped in some sort of red blanket that seemed soft and smooth to her eye, the baby suddenly stopped crying when Martha came into view. A cute smile went across the baby's face, and Martha couldn't help but smile along. The baby was naked, and it didn't take a doctor to realize that it was a baby boy. Martha's hand rose to her face, suddenly consumed with sorrow... _how could someone do that to their child? Put him in some sort of ship and shoot him away? He's just a baby... how can anyone do that to a baby?_

Martha reached into the ship and picked up the baby boy, along with the mesmerizing blanket; she could feel the warmth coming off of his tiny body, the soft feel of his minuscule hands as they lightly grasped her long brown hair. She put her face gently against his, she began to gently cry.

Later...

"Martha, you know as well as I do that we can't keep him. He's someone's child..."

"And that someone threw him in some strange ship! For what? Nothing could be worth that risk! He could have been killed, and whoever his parents are couldn't care less. We are the only ones who can protect him now... and don't even talk about giving him to child services, because you know as well as I do that they are a bunch of $!ing morons! He'll end up in some orphanage, or some foster family where the people would care less about him. We need to do this. It's destiny. It's fate. He was meant to find us, and we were meant to find him!"

Johnathan stared at his wife, knowing that, although he wanted with all his heart to disagree with her, that she was right. She was always right. Johnathan wasn't sure how it worked out like that, but whenever they had an argument, she was always right. He sighed, and looking at the floor for a moment, and then back at his wife.

"Ok then. We'll keep him. But there is something I have to say to you first..."

"What is that?", Martha asked nervously.

"We're naming him Clark."

Next Issue: Heritage- Clark Kent discovers he isn't just a normal teenager, and he has some extraordinary powers. Also, a secret is revealed, and the mysteries of Clark's past are answered by the most unlikely source (I don't think you'll see this one coming :) )


	3. Issue 3

**The Legend of Superman**

_Disclaimer- Characters within this work are not of my creation, and are property of DC Comics._

_Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster_

**Issue Three: Heritage, Part 1 (of 2)**

**Smallville, Kansas. November 13, 1987:**

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"I think something is wrong with me."

"What is it? Do you feel sick?"

"No, its just that..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"A couple of kids at school were saying that I am different because I was adopted."

"Who? Who said that?"

"Just some kids... Mike Richards and Kyle Luthor, I guess."

"Luthor? You can't believe a single syllable that comes out of the mouth of a Luthor."

"Really? So I'm not different?"

"Clark, you are different. We, all of us, are different. That's what defines us, makes us human. Different is normal."

"Even when I'm adopted?"

"Clark, just because you were adopted doesn't make you any less of a person. Your mother and I still love you, and that will never change."

Clark paused, then smiled up at his father.

"Thanks Dad. I don't feel so bad anymore."

"Good. And from now on, you don't have to take anything from anybody. It may be easy to insult, but the greater man can stand in the face of adversity. You just ignore those boys, and they'll get tired of their idiot games sooner or later.

"So, want to play some catch?"

-------------------------------------

Clark and Johnathan tossed the baseball through the moist Kansas air; it was warm, unusual for the time of year, but that was okay with Johnathan. The winters could be harsh, and he was in no mood to see an early one this season. Clark grasped his glove, flexing the soft leather, arcing it through the air as he reached up to grab another of his father's throws. Although football was the prime sport of the region, Clark always preferred the game of baseball. Not that he thought anything was wrong with football, he just loved the feeling and sound of the ball as it hit the leather of his mitt.

Clark had been in Little League for two years, and already he had shown a proficiency for it. He was a fast kid, and he could cover a lot of ground in right field, his preferred stomping grounds. Clark could throw awfully hard for his age, but despite urgings from his coach, Clark hadn't become a pitcher. Right field suited him just fine, and he wasn't going to mess with a good thing; after all, the Smallville Crows had won back-to-back region championships.

Clark had to run to reach one of his father's throws, and he decided to test out a spin move; he whirled his feet, moving in a circular motion, then quickly planted and launched one at an unsuspecting Johnathan. Unfortunately, his aim was off, and the ball missed his Dad by a couple of feet, banging against the front door of the barn... Well, that was what would have normally happened, but this time, the ball crashed through the wood, sending splinters flying. Two more loud crashes followed, and Johnathan could have sworn he heard the ball break through more wood on the way. Clark stood, stunned, staring at the small hole in the front of the barn, then he quickly hurried around back after his father.

---------------------------------

They stood in the tall grass behind the barn, staring at the line of travel the ball took on its way out of Clark's hand; not only had it crashed through the back wall of the barn, but it had hit a large oak about 20 feet beyond that. Clark and Johnathan stared at the white fleck, now embedded into the center of the tree.

"Nice throw, son."

**---------------------------------**

**Smallville, Kansas. March 18th, 1994.**

Clark Kent sat on the edge of Farmer's Ravine, a large crevice on the outskirts of town. He loved sitting up here, watching the sun set, the colors washing over the land. The wind tossed his black hair to and fro, and he brushed it back, leaving a small strand hanging over the front. The sun reached the horizon, then slowly disappeared behind it, and Clark stood up, wiping dirt from his faded jeans. He turned toward his bike, perched against a small rock outcropping, and he walked the batted frame away from the ledge, toward Death Bridge.

Smallville old-timers will tell tales of Death Bridge, a rickety hanging rope bridge, and how hundreds of people had died over the years by falling to their deaths on the rocks below, but Clark thought that was all hog-wash. He supposed someone probably had died in the past, and the legend had been born; still, despite the insincerity of the legends, Clark still took his time crossing over the bridge. The thing was still dangerous; one look was all you had to take in order to see that. In fact, the bridge was rotting in several places, so most people took the long way around, losing about 20 minutes in travel time.

Clark didn't have the benefit of time at the moment, and he was late for dinner as it was. Not only that, but he had a bunch of math homework to finish, and he wanted to get finished so he could watch The Stand movie on television. He loved the book by Stephen King, and he hoped the movie was just as good. "Probably not," he thought. "Most movies are nowhere near as good as the books are."

Clark made his way across Death Bridge, and about halfway across, a large gust of wind rattled the bridge, forcing Clark to gain his footing quickly. Luckily, Clark was just about as well-balanced (and I mean that literally) a person that you could find, and he quickly righted himself. However, he did forget about the red bike alongside him, and when he let go of the handlebar momentarily, it shifted and started to fall off the bridge; Clark quickly turned and caught the bike with one hand, easily lifting it back to his side. He started again, but this time, even his quick reflexes did not notice the bridge buckling beneath his feet. The plank he stepped onto cracked, rotted pieces falling into the small stream 50 feet below. The bike again tumbled, but Clark, preoccupied with trying to pull his foot out of the gaping hole, let it fall.

He heard the crash of metal against the rocks, and the faint splash of water, and he sighed. "Dammit, where am I gonna get another bike now? I have no money!"

He gripped both rope railings harshly, pulling himself up and away from danger. He took one more forlorn look down at his bent and useless bike, and then he began to move forward. The bridge had other plans; when Clark had gripped the rope railings, they had split like pieces of tissue paper, and the half of the bridge Clark was on split, falling away toward the abyss.

Clark dropped, grasping the flimsy wooden planks, and managed to hold on as the bridge half swished through the air toward the wall of the ravine. He braced himself for the impact, and he was surprised that when he hit the wall, he didn't feel anything. The same could not be said for the wall, however, for it now had a new Clark-shaped crevice; despite his predicament, Clark laughed at the sight. It was ridiculous, something out of the Saturday-morning cartoon lineup. "So, I guess I'm Wiley E. Coyote now," Clark said with a laugh.

He then realized he was hanging about 40 feet up from the ground, clinging to a rickety wooden bridge that was hundreds of years old, and he stopped smiling. He reached up and started to climb upwards, trying to use the best boards as ledges. He made his way about halfway up the remains of the bridge when it suddenly gave way, leaving Clark falling toward the stream fast, with no way to stop his momentum. He cried out, not sure what he was hoping for, and he braced himself for the end of his life.

-------------------------------

Johnathan Kent tossed a bit of salt into the frying pan, gently moving the hamburger meat, making sure to let the sizzling grease coat a bit of the top. He looked across the kitchen island at Martha, who was mixing a green salad, and he smiled. Predictably, she smiled back. Johnathan considered himself a very lucky man to have found such a wonderful woman; they were as much in love now as when they had begun to date. He moved over a place on the stove, and stirred the baked beans that were slightly bubbling in the saucepan. He lowered the burner, then moved to the refrigerator to grab a few slices of cheese when he heard the screen door slam against the door frame.

"Clark, you're late! Again!" He yelled, but not at all angrily. Quite frankly, he was pleased that Clark enjoyed nature so much. And, he always did his homework and chores very quickly, so why shouldn't he have some alone time? He smiled, again looking at Martha, but this time she looked like she had seen a ghost. "Honey? What's..."

Johnathan paused as he turned toward the door, where Clark stood. He looked like he had been in a fight; his jeans were wet and caked with mud, and his shirt was torn into shreds. His hair was wet and there was some mud on his face as well... only, he wasn't bleeding, not that Johnathan could see, anyway. Nonetheless, he rushed over to him, ushering him to sit in the lounge chair a few feet away.

"What happened, son? Who did this to you?" Johnathan was in a frenzy, both nervous and angry, wondering how this had happened.

"I... I fell." Clark seemed to be in shock as he said these words, still staring forward like a zombie.

"Where? How? Did someone push you?" This was Martha chiming in, her voice filled with just as much worry as Johnathan's.

"No. I was... I was crossing Death Bridge, and a plank broke. My bike fell. It's broken. I'm pretty sure my bike is broken."

"Don't worry about the bike, Clark... Are you alright?" Johnathan stared at his son again, looking him over for any wounds, cuts or... "Dammit!!" Johnathan thought, "He could have internal bleeding! What if he's only bleeding on the inside?! What am I going to do?!"

"The bridge." Clark continued, "The bridge snapped in half... I had to grab on.. hold for my life. Then it fell. The bridge,... it fell, and I fell with it. I fell into the creek...

"But... but I'm not hurt. I fell like 50 feet and I'm still alive. I thought I was going to die. I thought the rocks would kill me, but I'm not hurt... I'm fine. How is that possible?! How am I not dead now?! I should be dead! Anyone else would have been dead! But me... but I'm still here!! I...I..." Clark tried to continue, but his voice cracked, and he cradled his head in his hands. Johnathan and Martha stood breathless, then stared at each other, as if they both were thinking the same thing. And... they were.

"Should we tell him Johnathan? Is it time?"

"I... I'm not sure. But after that story, I think we have to."

"What is it?" Clark raised his head, staring at his two parents. "What is it time to tell me? What!?"

"Well," Johnathan began, "We didn't exactly get you from the orphanage, like we told you when you were younger. We... got you from someplace else."

"What do you mean you got me from someplace else? Am I a robot or something? Did you get me from a factory!? Am I some kind of indestructible robot boy, and you two have been raising me as a human!?"

"No, no, no. It's nothing like that. Not at..."

"Well," Martha interrupted, "He is kind of on the right track..."

Clark stared at his parents, and a wave of emotions washed through him. Anger, fear, confusion, Clark didn't know what the heck was going on. It was like out of some science fiction comic book. Johnathan stared at Clark, giving him the same loving expression he had given him all these years; he cared deeply for his only son, even if he wasn't blood. And, he had no choice, he noted. It is finally time.

"It's time you found out where you come from, Clark. Follow me."

----------------------------------

Clark followed his father through the darkness, with Johnathan's flashlight piercing a path, leading the way. They walked for about five minutes, and then Johnathan stopped and walked into the woods. Clark followed. Another two minutes or so (keeping time really wasn't topping Clark's list at this moment) and Johnathan stopped, and started removing brush from a pile. When enough branches had been moved, Clark could clearly see a wooden door, much like any storm cellar. Two large locks kept the two sides of the door together, and Johnathan fished some keys out of his pocket; he found two, and unlocked the padlocks, sliding them off and placing them in the dirt. He opened the wood, and began to descend down into an abandoned storm cellar (at least from Clark's point of view).

At the bottom of the stairs, Johnathan reached over and pulled on a string; attached to a light bulb, the cellar was suddenly illuminated. Old cartons of food, obviously way past expired, and barrels of something else (but probably food) littered the damp earthen floor.

"This... This is an old storm cellar I found when I first bought the property. It was probably built as a shelter of some sort from tornado's. It's very old, probably around a hundred years, and I think it was probably abandoned when the farm was built; you see, there was another farm built on this land, but it burned down at the turn of the century. The owners probably decided to move the location after this, and they abandoned this place because they had a storm cellar closer to the main house."

"You wanted to show me a storm cellar? Wait... you didn't find me encased in ice or something down here?"

"No," Johnathan laughed, "nothing like that. This is only a place for safe-keeping. I keep some of the good wine down here, and some petty cash. This town is pretty safe, but you can never be too sure. I also keep our most treasured possession down here." Johnathan moved forward, moving a small bureau out of the way, revealing a tiny door. This, unlike the main doors, was not padlocked, probably to make sure someone passed over it if they were looking for something; Johnathan pulled it open, and he motioned for Clark to go in. Johnathan followed him into the darkness.

It took a few seconds for Clark's eyes to adjust to the pitch black, and he wondered why his father hadn't turned on the flashlight. Suddenly, a faint white light broke through the darkness. Clark realized he was in a much larger room than the main storage room. He stood up, squinting at the light, which was growing brighter.

"Remember when you asked us about the stork, Clark? Whether it had dropped you off? Well... this is your stork..." Suddenly the light exploded outward, and the whole room was illuminated. Clark blinked, then he caught his breath when he saw the light source. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the silver object, which was (in his expert comic book reading opinion) a spaceship. He somehow gained the use of his legs, and he walked to the amazing ship. Clark placed his hand on the silver exterior, and the sudden voice caused him to fall backward onto the floor.

"_HELLO, KAL-EL. I HAVE WAITED FOR A LONG TIME TO TALK WITH YOU."_

Clark quickly sat up, staring at the talking ship.

"Who are you? And why did you call me Kaleell?"

"_KAL-EL. THAT WAS YOUR GIVEN BIRTH NAME, BEFORE IT WAS CHANGED TO CLARK BY JOHNATHAN AND MARTHA KENT."_

"How do you know my name?"

"_I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU, KAL-EL. JOHNATHAN KENT AND I HAVE HAD MANY DISCUSSIONS ABOUT YOU AND YOUR NEW HOME."_

"I...I... don't know what to say..." Clark, mouth still open, turned and looked at Johnathan, who was sitting on a crate near the back of the room, with his arms crossed. He was smiling.

"Was I... was I born in that thing?"

"_NO, KAL-EL. THIS SHIP WAS MERELY A MEANS OF TRANSPORTATION FROM YOUR HOME PLANET TO YOUR CURRENT LOCATION. YOU WERE SEVERAL MONTHS OLD WHEN YOU WERE SENT HERE."_

"My home planet?"

"_YES, KAL-EL. YOU WERE BORN ON THE PLANET KRYPTON. IT IS IN A GALAXY VERY FAR FROM THIS ONE."_

"I'm an alien? I was born on another planet?" This time, Johnathan answered.

"Yes, son. This ship brought you here, where your mother and I found you."

Clark sat, stunned at this flood of information. Falling off a cliff and finding out you are an alien, all in the same day... well, thats a hell of a day for a fifteen-year-old. He frowned, trying to process all the information; after a few seconds, he looked back up at the ship. "You still haven't answered my first question... Who are you?"

"_OH, I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT INTRODUCING MYSELF SOONER, KAL-EL. I AM BRANIAC."_

Next Issue- Heritage, Part 2 (of 2) More of Clark's strange birth is revealed, and he starts to understand why he survived his fall off of the cliff. Plus, it has Braniac!! So, there is no excuse not to read it!!!


	4. Issue 4

**The Legend of Superman**

_Disclaimer- Characters within this work are not of my creation, and are property of DC Comics._

_Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster_

**Issue Four: Heritage, Part 2 (of 2)**I

Smallville, Kansas. March 18th, 1994:

"Braniac?"

"_YES, KAL-EL. IT IS WHAT YOU HUMANS CALL AN ANAGRAM. IT IS MUCH SIMPLER TO REMEMBER THAN MY FULL NAME."_

"Why am I here? Why did my birth parents send me here?"

"_YOUR FATHER TOOK WHAT HE BELIEVED WAS A NECESSARY STEP TO SAVE YOUR LIFE."_

"Save my life? What do you mean?"

"_KRYPTON IS NO MORE. YOUR FATHER MADE THE DECISION TO SEND YOU TO EARTH IN ORDER TO SAVE YOU, KAL-EL. IT IS A DIFFICULT DECISION THAT HE GRAPPLED WITH MANY A NIGHT."_

"So he sent me here to save me? What... what happened to Krypton?"

"_I AM AFRAID IT WAS DESTROYED SHORTLY AFTER OUR SHIP LEFT. WITHIN A FEW DAYS, AT MOST."_

"How was it destroyed?"

"_THERE WAS A WAR, THREE YEARS BEFORE YOUR BIRTH. ONE OF THE BATTLES ENDED WITH THE USE OF A POWERFUL WEAPON. THAT WEAPON, IN ADDITION TO KILLING MANY, SHIFTED THE ORBIT OF KRYPTON SO THAT IT WAS CLOSER TO THE SUN. THE PLANET COULD NOT ADAPT TO THE CHANGE, AND BEGAN TO TEAR ITSELF APART."_

"So, what about the others? My parents, the rest of my family? Where did they go? Are they here, too?"

"_I AM AFRAID NOT, KAL-EL. YOUR FATHER WAS ABLE TO UNCOVER THE PENDING DISASTER OF KRYPTON, BUT THE HIGH COUNCIL WOULD NOT LISTEN TO HIM. THEY DEEMED HIM INSANE, AND SEVERED ALL TIES. YOUR FATHER, ONCE A HIGH-RANKING GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL, WAS SHUNNED BY MOST OF SOCIETY, AND FORCED TO MOVE OUT INTO THE WILDS OF KRYPTON WITH YOUR MOTHER. IT WAS THERE THAT I ASSISTED HIM IN CREATING YOUR SPACECRAFT. "_

"You helped him to create my spacecraft?"

"_YES. WE WERE ABLE TO FASHION THE SHIP WITHIN A MONTH OF YOUR FATHER'S EXILE. DURING THAT TIME, HE, ALONG WITH ANOTHER SCIENTIST KNOWN AS NON, TRIED TO WARN THE PUBLIC, BUT THEY WERE BOTH ARRESTED AND TRIED WITH TREASON."_

"My father was tried with treason? So, he died in prison?"

"_NO. MYSELF, ALONG WITH A SMALL GROUP OF THOSE LOYAL TO YOUR FATHER, MANAGED TO BREAK HIM OUT OF PRISON BEFORE THEY LOBOTOMIZED HIM. NON, UNFORTUNATELY, WAS NOT SO LUCKY. WE WERE UNABLE TO SAVE HIM BEFORE THE PROCEDURE WAS COMPLETED."_

"Lobotomies? That's what they did to prisoners? Isn't that..."

"_HARSH? CERTAINLY, FROM MOST STANDPOINTS. HOWEVER, THE KRYPTONIAN HIGH COUNCIL TAKES DRASTIC MEASURES TO PREVENT UPRISING IN THE GOVERNMENT. IN FACT, BEFORE YOUR FATHER JOINED THE HIGH COUNCIL, THE STANDARD SENTENCE FOR MOST VIOLENT AND HEINOUS CRIMES WAS DEATH. BASED ON MY KNOWLEDGE OF EARTH, SUCH TACTICS ARE QUITE SEVERE, BUT ON KRYPTON, THEY DID PREVENT MOST CRIME. THE CRIME RATE WAS NEARLY NON-EXISTENT."_

"Wait, you said that you helped free my father from prison? I thought you were a computer program."

"_INDEED I AM, BUT ON KRYPTON, I POSSESSED A PHYSICAL BODY... ONE YOU MIGHT RECOGNIZE AS A ROBOT. I ABANDONED THAT FORM TO ACCOMPANY YOU TO EARTH."_

"So, don't take this the wrong way... but why are you here? Why did you come with me to Earth?"

"_TO ENSURE YOUR SAFETY ALONG THE JOURNEY, AND TO ASSIST YOU IN THE JOURNEY AHEAD. IT WAS THE LEAST I COULD DO FOR MY CREATOR."_

"My father. He created you?"

"_YES. JOR-EL WAS A BRILLIANT SCIENTIST. HE CREATED ME AS A VESSEL TO GATHER ALL OF KRYPTONIAN HISTORY. I WAS ALSO CREATED TO CARRY THE ENTIRETY OF KRYPTONIAN ART, HISTORY, MUSIC AND SCIENCE. THAT FACT IS A SECONDARY REASON WHY I ACCOMPANIED YOU. I CAN TEACH YOU MUCH OF YOUR LOST HOMEWORLD, AND HOW TO ADJUST TO YOUR NEW-FOUND ABILITIES."_

"My abilities?"

"_YES. BY MY CALCULATIONS, YOU WILL GAIN ABILITIES BEYOND THAT OF A NORMAL HUMAN BEING. I BELIEVE SUCH A CHANGE CAME FORTH DUE TO THE YELLOW SUN THAT THIS PLANET ORBITS."_

"Why would the sun give me abilities?"

"_KRYPTON ORBITED AROUND A RED SUN. MY HYPOTHESIS IS THAT, DIFFERENT FROM A RED SUN, THE YELLOW SUN OF THIS PLANET IS CHARGING YOUR CELLS AT AN INCREASED RATE. IN ESSENCE, EACH DAY YOU LIVE UNDER THIS YELLOW SUN, YOU ARE SLOWLY GAINING AND STORING ENERGY THAT WILL MAKE YOU STRONGER, FASTER THAN A NORMAL HUMAN BEING. I CANNOT POSTULATE TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE POWERS YOU MAY GAIN, BUT I AM CERTAIN THAT, AS YOU AGE, YOU WILL CHANGE DRASTICALLY."_

"Drastically? Like my skin changing color, or something?"

"_NO, I SINCERELY DOUBT THAT. MORE LIKELY IS THAT YOU WILL GO THROUGH MAJOR INTERNAL CHANGES AS YOU GO THROUGH PUBERTY AND REACH ADULTHOOD." _

"Death Bridge!!"

"_I BEG PARDON, KAL-EL?"_

"It's a ravine close to home. The bridge snapped, and I fell... a long way. But I'm still alive!! Does that have something to do with these abilities you say I'll gain?"

"_YES, I BELIEVE SO. IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT YOUR BODY HAS BEGUN TO BECOME STRONGER, MORE RESISTANT TO PAIN. IN TERMS OF THE ORDINARY HUMAN, YOU MAY JUST BECOME INVULNERABLE TO HARM. OF COURSE, THAT IS JUST MY GUESS. I WOULD HAVE TO OBSERVE YOU AS YOU AGE FURTHER IN ORDER TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THE DEPTH OF THE CHANGES AT HAND. HOWEVER, I DO FEEL CONFIDENT IN SAYING THAT YOU WILL OPERATE AT A LEVEL HUNDREDS OF TIMES HIGHER THAN THE NORMAL HUMAN BEING. YOU MOST LIKELY WILL BE ABLE TO JUMP FURTHER, RUN FASTER, AND HIT HARDER. AND, WHEN YOUR BODY REACHES THE PEAK OF ITS CONDITION, THERE IS NO TELLING WHAT YOU MAY BE ABLE TO DO."_

"Wow. I mean, I sometimes feel different than other people, but I didn't realize I would be able to jump off cliffs and not get hurt. Dad... imagine what I could do!! You always said that I was destined for great things... maybe this is my chance!"

"Your chance, Clark?" Johnathan frowned, not sure as to where the conversation was headed.

"To do something! To help people! I mean, if I can't get hurt or anything, I could do so much to help others! I could run into burning buildings to save people, or stop robberies!"

"Woh, woh, woh, Clark. Not so fast. I mean, we don't even know the extent of what you can do yet. For all we know, fire could hurt you. I don't want you running into burning buildings before we know more about your powers. And, you have to think of one more thing. What will other people do when they find out you have powers? I don't want my son taken away to be experimented on!! I realize that this is a gift, but you have to use this one very carefully. You have to think what something like this could do to your life. I love the fact that you want to help others, and use your... powers... to do good, but there are sick people out there that will do anything and everything to succeed. Not only that, but we've seen those newspaper reports about other people with strange abilities. You see more and more every day it seems! There is no telling what is out there in the world, Clark, and I just want to be certain that you are ready to face it."

"Ok, Dad. I guess I really didn't think of it like that." Clark frowned, and sat down on a crate in the corner.

"Clark. Look at me, son. I don't want you to think that I am crushing your dreams here. I just want you to be able to be ready, so that you can make the right decisions when the time comes. I mean, Brainiac just said that you might not gain all of these powers until you are an adult. And although you are certainly mature for your age, fifteen is still pretty young. I know both your mother and I would feel a whole lot better if we got a full grasp on these abilities of yours before you start fighting the criminals with guns. Okay, Clark?" Johnathan put his hand on Clark's shoulder, smiling lightly, waiting for his response. Clark stared at the ground for a few more moments, then smiled back at him.

"Ok, Dad. I think you're right." Clark stood up, and turned towards the ship. "Ok, Brainiac. I think I want you to help me understand these powers that I am going to get. To understand my home planet..." a quick glance at Johnathan, "and my birth parents."

"_VERY WELL, KAL-EL. SHALL WE GET STARTED?"_

Next issue- Smallville, Part 1 (of 3). It's one year later, and Clark, after a lot of help from Brainiac and his parents, is ready to journey out into the world. What will he do? And, just who is Kyle Luthor? Stay tuned for the next issue, coming soon!!!!


	5. Issue 5

**The Legend of Superman**

Disclaimer- Characters within this work are not of my creation, and are property of DC Comics.

Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster

**Issue 05- Smallville, Part 1 (of 3)**

**Smallville, Kansas. One Year Later. **

"I don't think this is working, Brainiac."

"_PLEASE, KAL-EL. JUST A FEW MOMENTS LONGER."_

"I'm telling you, I've been staring at this tractor for three hours. I think its safe to say that I don't possess telepathic powers."

"_PERHAPS YOU ARE RIGHT. BUT I WON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE UNTIL I KNOW THE FULL EXTENT OF YOUR POWERS. THIS YELLOW SUN IS AN INTERESTING NEW FACTOR. I BELIEVE THAT THE LONGER YOU LIVE UNDER IT, YOU WILL DISCOVER NEW ABILITIES."_

"We've been through this already. It's been a year, and so far, the only powers that I have are invulnerability, limitless strength, and the ability to jump really far. That's it. You've constantly said that I am going to be getting incredible new powers, but I don't feel any different from last year. I know I'm ready to help people, even if you and Dad won't accept it."

"_KAL-EL, I SEE YOUR DESIRE TO UTILIZE YOUR GIFTS IMMEDIATELY, BUT I BELIEVE WE MUST EXERCISE CAUTION. JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T SEEM TO HAVE ANY WEAKNESSES DOESN'T MEAN THAT YOU DON'T HAVE ANY."_

"I know how you feel, but all these tests seem pointless. I know what I'm capable of, and I think it's time that Smallville knows it too. Listen, before you even say anything else, I'm done. I'm tired of staring at a tractor for hours on end hoping that I'll be able to move it with my mind, or blow it up just by thinking about it. I'm sorry, but I'm done."

Clark pulled off the small communicating device from his ear, and dropped it into the dirt, then turned and walked toward the house.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"God, this is incredibly boring," moaned Chris Drew, one of Clark's best friends. "I mean, really. I'm about two minutes away from jumping out the window."

Clark smiled. Chris wasn't, to put it mildly, a fan of the Smallville school system. Or any school system, for that matter. As far as Clark knew, Chris only came to school to look at the other girls. "Well, maybe if you didn't stare at Jessica Harper the whole class, you might actually find some of this stuff interesting."

"Are you kidding me, Clark? Jessica Harper's ample figure is the only thing keeping me alive today. And I wouldn't talk about staring, buddy. I seem to remember seeing you, not too long ago, in the midst of your marathon staring contests involving one Miss Lana Lang."

Clark blushed a little, and tried to act like he was reading something important on the board. "Really, dude, I think you should ask her out. Ever since she broke up with Kyle Luthor, that little filly has been looking fine..."

"Could you not, Chris?"

"I'm just saying that you should ask her out. She obviously likes you. And you, well, you go into heat every time she walks by your desk."

"I'll think about it."

"Alright, ladies and gentleman, class dismissed. And remember, I want that paper on the French Revolution by Thursday. Not Friday, not next week. Thursday. No exceptions." Mr. Albright, the global history teacher, was a tall, lanky man, with thick glasses and a look like he was not a man to cross. Which was definitely true; Mr. Albright had a reputation for being a very tough teacher. Clark thought that was true, but he still enjoyed his classes. Chris, on the other hand...

"Thank God thats over," Chris muttered, a little too loudly, which prompted Mr. Albright to shoot him a very dirty look. Chris didn't notice this, as he was too busy staring at Jessica Harper as she made her way out the door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, pizza today?" Chris asked, as they walked to their lockers after school.

"Sure, that sounds good." Not that there was much of a selection in a small town like Smallville. Which meant that after school, Ross' Pizza was packed with hungry high-schoolers. Clark and Chris made their way down the brightly polished hallway before stopping in front of a tall, thin boy.

"Hiya Petey Pooh," called Chris playfully. "How's it going?"

"Please don't call me that." Pete Ross, the other of Clark's best friends, was a shy, blond boy that had regretted ever inviting Chris to dinner at his house. It was there that Chris overheard Pete's mother calling him Petey Pooh, a pet name. Chris hadn't let it go.

"Ok, fine. You up for pizza?"

"I'm beginning to think that the only reason you are friends with me is so that you can get free pizza from my dad's parlor."

"That is sooo untrue," said Chris, with a look of fake shock on his face, "Ok. Maybe it's a little true. But now I really like you, little buddy." Ironically, Chris was about 6 inches shorter than Pete.

"Well now I can die in peace, knowing that you like me. My life is complete." He put his hand to his forehead, swaying back and forth, as if he were about to faint. Clark laughed, and opened his locker, placing the books he didn't need into it.

The three boys walked away from the lockers and made their way through the new hallways of Smallville High. The building had only been completed a year ago, and although it was beautiful, it was massive. Students often got lost, and one wrong turn could mean five or ten minutes of struggling to figure out where you were. It was because of this fact that the friends made their way down the main hallway and straight out the front door, instead of going through the myriad of hallways to the back entrance, which was closer to the pizza place. Had they known what would be waiting for them at the front entrance, they might have risked getting a bit lost. Standing on the brick pathway leading out from the main entrance, stood a hulking thing of a boy.

"Oh, crap," muttered Chris, and he immediately searched for an exit. Clark merely frowned. He had never been afraid of Kyle Luthor, but he disliked him greatly for a few years. The two hadn't exactly been friends when they were younger, but they had at least been cordial. Kyle Luthor stood just over six feet, three inches, and weighed about 250 pounds. His fire-red hair was cut short, which made his head look massive, at least in comparison to the other boys. Luthor was the star of the football team, a defensive back who led the league in sacks both of his two seasons. Luthor also led the league in general meanness.

Kyle was a part of the Luthor legacy; the Luthor family had been a mainstay in Kansas for a while, as well as Metropolis, a major city located in New York State. The Luthors were involved in just about everything, from retail chains to weapons development. Kyle was the second of two sons born from Lionel Luthor, the other being Alexander, who is 6 years older than his younger brother. Clark had never met Alexander, but he was supposedly a genius, graduating from Met U with a 4.0 GPA. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn't so intelligent, at least not in matters dealing with school work. As far as Clark knew, Kyle's GPA had never encroached past a 2.0 at anytime. Not that Kyle needed to be smart, with the career track he was on; early projections called him a top 5 player nationwide, and he had his pick of colleges, all with full scholarship rides.

Kyle smiled, and closed in on the three friends. "Why, if it isn't the loser trio." he remarked, subtly flexing his muscles in an attempt to appear more menacing. It was working. Pete slunk back a little, shifting his book bag, and Chris looked like he had eaten a bad piece of food. Clark stood his ground. After all, it was pretty difficult to be menaced when you can fall off a building and walk away without a scratch (something that Brainiac had actually had Clark do; twice, in fact).

"Wow," Clark scoffed.

"What was that, Kent?"

"Oh, nothing. I just wasn't aware that you knew the word trio. It's very impressive. Progressed to the third grade reading level, have we?" That remark elicited a low groan from Chris.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?" Kyle stepped forward, and shoved Clark backwards. At least, that was what he planned on doing. Unlike the many quarterbacks that had crumpled under his strength, Clark stood firmly planted to the ground, unwavering. A look of confusion washed over Kyle's face, and he turned, as if to go, before whipping around and throwing a punch at Clark. For the three boys around Clark, the punch was instantaneous. For Clark, time seem to stop.

What should have been Kyle's fist hurtling towards a collision with his face turned into what seemed like slow motion. As the fist edged closer in space, blurry ripples seemed to emanate from it. Clark thought quickly that he didn't want to get punched, even if it wouldn't hurt him in the slightest. However, people like Kyle never seemed to quit- unless they got what they wanted. Clark closed his eyes, and the punch finally connected with his face. Instead of standing still, Clark allowed himself to fall to the ground.

Kyle Luthor stood over him, and laughed, before turning and walking away towards the student parking lot. Chris and Pete rushed to Clark's side (although not until Kyle was far enough away), and picked him off the ground.

"Thanks," Clark said, feigning injury.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"I still can't believe you stood up to him like that. I mean, sure, you got your ass kicked, but still... way to go," Chris was saying a few minutes later, as the three made their way home (completely forgetting about the hot slices of pizza awaiting them in the other direction).

"Listen, guys," Clark began nervously. "I have something to tell you both."

"If it's that you're gay, we are totally cool with it." Chris replied.

"Huh? What? No, I'm not gay. It's something else. Something big."

"You aren't dying, are you?" said Pete, "Because that would really suck."

"No, I'm not dying! And would you both stop guessing!!" Clark stopped along the dirt road they had been walking, and knelt down. He grabbed a handful of dirt and kneaded it through his fingers. "What I'm about to tell you can't get out to anyone. Anyone. Not your parents, not your brothers and sisters. No one can know."

"Ok," both Chris and Pete replied, rather nervously.

Clark hesitated, thinking over his next words very carefully. "I'm different."

"Different?" Pete and Chris muttered, practically at the same time.

"Yes. I... I'm an alien."

"Hahahaha," both boys burst out laughing. "You really had us going there, Clark. Good one." Pete smiled, then started to walk again.

"I'm serious." Clark stood, and stared both squarely in the eye. "I'm an alien. My ship crash landed about 15 years ago in Smallville. The same time as those meteor showers. Those meteors were fragments of my planet. Krypton."

Pete and Chris looked at each other. "Holy crap," said Chris, looking into Clark's eyes. "You are serious."

"Yes. And I have powers."

"Powers?" offered Pete. "What kind of powers?"

"Well, for one, I'm invulnerable. And... and I have incredible strength." Clark's confidence began to grow as he told them more."

"Incredible strength? Like what... you can lift 200 pounds?" Chris asked, trying to wrap his head around what Clark was telling them both.

"Actually," Clark smiled, and walked over to them. He grabbed onto each of their shirts with a hand, and lifted them both clear above his head.

"Holy crap," Pete said, from three feet off the ground.

"Ditto," offered Chris.

"Oh. And I can leap really far."

"Like what? Like 100 feet?" Chris said as Clark put them both back on the ground.

"More like a mile. Or two."

"Holy..." Pete began.

"I know," Clark interrupted. "I wanted to tell you this because I needed your help."

"What kind of help?" they both muttered.

"I need your powers," Clark replied.

"Our powers?" they replied in tandem.

"I need your powers of design..." he said, with a sly smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ok," said Chris, as the three sat in front of his computer. "This game is a superhero game, and it allows you to basically create any costume you want. Now, a lot of these things are going to be out of the question, because, lets face it, you can't go running around without a shirt on. And you need pants. And under no circumstances, no prosthetic nipples on your chest piece."

"Chest piece? I was just kind of hoping for normal clothes that make me look... mysterious."

"Ah, ok. I think I know what you want." Chris fiddled with some of the sliders on the game, and he came up with a figure dressed all in black. "The ninja look. Classic. Ninjas are cool." Clark looked over the screen.

"I guess I can do that. But I have to wear a mask. Clark can't go running around fighting crime."

"Third-person references. I like it. Very superhero of you. Ok. Masks are easy enough. How about a ski mask?" Chris closed the game and opened up a costume web site. "Or how 'bout this." Chris clicked a few more links, and a old hockey mask popped up. "Now tell me that's not cool."

"No, thats cool..." Clark began, "if I want people that I'm saving to think that I'm going to kill them!"

"Right. No hockey mask. How about this one." Chris brought up a black mask that didn't immediately shout out serial killer.

"Perfect." Pete said, smiling at Clark.

Five days later, Clark was trying on his "costume". It was a snug fitting, simple, black ensemble. He tried on the mask, and took a quick look in the mirror. "I think I'm ready, gentlemen."

Next issue- Smallville, Part 2 (of 3). Clark ventures out into the crime capital of Kansas (ok, so I made that up) to fight crime. But what happens when the Smallville police don't want his help? And, a shocking murder rocks the town, throwing everything into turmoil. Stay tuned for the next issue, coming soon!!!


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